


Extraterrestrials and Other Odd Things

by toothbrushattack



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Kink Meme, M/M, Pon Farr, Science Fiction, Vulcan, Vulcan!Mycroft, Vulcan!Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-29
Updated: 2012-10-29
Packaged: 2017-11-17 07:08:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/548937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toothbrushattack/pseuds/toothbrushattack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he was four he came to with mummy holding his head, three fingers firm and warm on his face.</p><p>His room was destroyed and Mycroft held a bloody napkin to his lip.</p><p>Father held the telephone in his hand. Lips tight and eyes watching him intently.</p><p>A week later Grandfather arrived.</p><p>Grandfather with his unusual eyebrows and mummy with her always too curved ears.</p><p>Vulcan.  Alien.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Extraterrestrials and Other Odd Things

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Sherlock has gone into pon farr every seven years since he hit adulthood. His first time (20) was Victor Trevor. His second time (27) was Irene Adler. His third time (34) is John.  
> \--  
> I read the first sentence and my brain ran away with me. When I looked at the prompt again I realized it requested something a bit different than what I wrote. And what I wrote turned in an absolute monster so I hope you like it anyway.
> 
> *Made a few edits and updated the story. This story in unbeta'd so if you catch anything let me know!
> 
> **Tweaked a few things and fixed some grammatical errors.
> 
> ***One last tweak. Promise.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters used in this story. All characters used in this story belong ACD and Steve Moffat and his evil accomplice Mark Gatiss. I do not profit from this story and write because I love this show. :)

When Sherlock was three, he started speaking in full sentences.

Two weeks later Mycroft found him hunched over chemisry textbooks balancing basic equations.

Father started his schooling the day after.

\--

When he was four he came to with mummy holding his head, three fingers firm and warm on his face.

His room was destroyed and Mycroft held a bloody napkin to his lip.

Father held the telephone in his hand. Lips tight and eyes watching him intently.

A week later Grandfather arrived.

Grandfather with his unusual eyebrows and mummy with her always too curved ears.

_Vulcan. Alien. Powerful emotions, different biology, secret._

\--

When Sherlock was seven, he met Irene.

A pretty little thing with full pink lips and bright eyes.

They were tied together.

Mates is what mummy said. Sherlock didn’t really care, he disliked it solely because of the persistent tingle in the back of his mind that reminded him of it.

\--

When he was thirteen he found an isolated room deep within the manor. The walls were padded and soundproofed.

The cupboards were recently stocked with high energy foods and electrolyte water.

Mummy grimaced and closed her eyes when he inquired of the room. He left the study that day fists clenched and mind whirling.

It was the first time he’d ever truly felt frightened.

\--

At twenty years old, sitting with legs crossed and sweat dripping from his face, Sherlock meditated through the worst agony of his life for a week.

Intense fury crackled in the back of his mind afterwards.

He broke his bond to Irene two days later.

The pon farr remained one of the few things that frightened him to the core.

\--

When John Watson limped in Sherlock felt a pull that made him look twice.

But no, the man was very much a human. An interesting one albeit.

\--

Three months later he learned something that changed everything and absolutely nothing. When on a whim he decided to let his barriers down as John handed him his tea.

He was met with silence.

He could not feel John.

\--

A month after the blind banker case he experienced his first black mood since John moved in. Scrambled and crushing thoughts permeated his thinking and he meditated heavily to try and grasp feebly at his escaping emotions.

The second day of the black spell, John came home early, toting groceries and spent an hour puttering about the kitchen.

“Shove over.” Sherlock opened an eye to see John holding two bowls of steaming curry.

They spent the rest of the night watching Antique’s Roadshow, and arguing about the obscene inaccuracies of the Bond movies.

Something warm and affectionate hummed pleasantly in his mind. He brushed a knuckle against the back of John’s hand.

Nothing.

But John turned, eyes crinkling and laugh lines becoming pronounced.

_Is this what it is to be content?_

\----

Irene Adler was fascinating.

Lips red as blood and a smile that glinted with that bit of too much that would always set them apart. Too intense.

She was open to him despite the broken bond and it drew him in.

John became distant and Sherlock paid no mind.

That day by the fire when she leaned in close a link thrumming between them, she’d tried to form it once more.

She recoiled in time to Mrs. Hudson’s call. The smile remained, slightly unsure now but her eyes remained dilated and clear.

That was when Sherlock realized that the pleasant hum he’d come to overlook was silent.

He realized how stupid he’d been.

\--

The night after the Baskerville case, Sherlock awoke arching off the bed. His heart pounded and terror flooded his body.

John woke up with a gurgled gasp.

And then the terror was gone.

“You okay Sherlock?” John’s voice was steady and hoarse.

“Fine. Just fine.” The rest of the night he meditated through the intense guilt that threatened to choke him.

\--

Everyone broadcasted their feelings.

Usually his barriers prevented anything from getting through, so he could sense when something changed on the rooftop.

Because suddenly he felt Moriarty pressing against his barriers and it was an oily, hateful, ugly feeling.

And with a bullet it was gone.

_John._

_T'hy'la. A word he’d never thought he would ever use but now belonged to a short, jumper wearing doctor._

“Good-bye John.”

And he would protect it.

\--

When he woke up in the morgue, he threw up into the nearest bin and curled into himself.

The impression of pain and utter devastation from John pressing against his pulse tearing through his mind. He remained paralyzed, unaware of the tears slipping from his eyes.

Then a warm hand pressed against his face and Mycroft was there. _Family, support, brother_ and he could do this. He had too.

Mycroft watched him impassively, but his eyes were as bright and as fierce as his own.

Molly floundered, utterly bewildered and concerned.

\--

He spent two days with mummy learning how to block the bond he’d created between he and John.

Sherlock couldn’t afford distractions.

Not even one as important as this one.

\--

He woke up in Hong Kong two years later at 3:06 AM, fierce triumph swelling in the back of his mind. It lasted for ten seconds before he was able to react and clamp down on it.

The next morning newspapers with his face on the front cover and titles declaring him a hero littered the stands in Hong Kong.

\---

“Moran is dead.” Sherlock held onto his composure viciously.

“How?” Mycroft was silent for a heartbeat too long.

“It appears that John has been busy with other things besides clearing your name.” He closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall.

The alley smelled of piss and rot and he was relieved and he could breath again.

“It’s time to come home little brother.”

\---

John decked him.

A brilliant purple bruise began forming on his cheekbone and John was cursing while holding his fist muttering about ‘cheekbones.’

Sherlock started to laugh and John stared at him torn between joining him or punching him.

They ended up tangled on the ground, chests heaving with laughter and then their hands brushed.

_Lovewarmthamusementhappinesslovewantrelief_

_“Oh.”_ He breathed. His own wide eyes matching John’s.

\--

“My mum is the one with the heritage, both my grandparents have the blood. Da is human. None of us really look anything like the original lot. We got along with the humans, so it was easier for us to blend in. My grandpa told me that was because we were v'tosh ka'tur. None of that surpressed emotions crap. The group split up due to differences in opinion and here we are.” Sherlock’s mind raced, struggling to hold back his astonishment and bewilderment because what were the chances?

John was smiling at him from behind his teacup and warm amusement trickled into the bond. And it was completely bewildering to realize that John had been aware of it this entire time.

“You knew I was alive.”

“You still deserved that punch.”

\---

John’s hands were rough and steady against his face but he was keeping the barrier up. The question came in the form of a gentle prod against the bond.

“Yes.” Sherlock let himself be pulled down and John pressed their lips together firmly. It was awkward and John giggled when their noses bumped.

He tilted his head and there, finally.

John’s lips were slightly dry and the kiss was salty and wet and he could taste that biscuit from earlier and it felt wonderful.

They pulled back and Sherlock was light headed and this was really much better than drugs.

\--

Their first time was frantic as Sherlock fell onto the bed with John, soft groans escaping when they pressed against each other.

John tangled his hand into his hair and the other scratched down his back gently. Sherlock panted against his ear and John murmured soft words of encouragement to him and then he was moaning and clutching at the sheets as he climaxed.

John followed toes curling into the sheets and gasping into Sherlock’s mouth in a frantic attempt of a kiss.

Afterwards they lay tangled in bed together and John pressed soft kisses to his face.

\--

_A/N There is going to be a change in tense because the story said so. I couldn't keep it in the same tense without it sounding off._

\--

Six months later Sherlock awakes gasping and writhing in bed.

Pon farr. Oh, so stupid. He’d forgotten.

His skin feels feverish and he absolutely aches. There is a haze at the edge of his mind threatening to drag him down and drown him, and then John is there.

He surges up and he wants to _take_ , his hand seeking those three points on John’s face. But John isn’t letting him and it’s wrong, John is his mate and _why does his mate deny him?_

Then John is pulling, coaxing him with soft words.

“Come on Sherlock. We can’t stay in this room for this. Just a few steps love.” It _burns_ , his blood is too hot and where are they going?

He follows John up the stairs and his nostrils flare at the smell of strangers. The red haze surges forward as anger swells at the thought of others coming near John.

John pushes him into the room, stripping as Sherlock advances on him.

He intercepts Sherlock’s hand again and interlocks their fingers.

“C’mon love. It’s just you and me, come back here.” Sherlock struggles through the haze and gasps John name.

He is still struggling but John finally lets his hand go and then he’s pressing his hand against John’s face and John is too and John is everywhere, loving, accepting and he can hear him in his head.

They collapse into the bolted down bed and then John is sliding down on him and the burning, throbbing arousal intensifies. He rocks up into John and feels the sensation loop back into him from John and they moan helplessly in the face of this ravaging burn.

\--

Three days later Sherlock is curled around John, face pressed into the curve of his neck. Their bond is complete in a way he didn’t know was possible and he could hear John in the back of his head and if this is what it’s like when the Vulcan blood was so diluted then how did the pure blood Vulcans cope?

\--

When John wakes up he stretches, grimacing. Sherlock listens to the quiet murmurs that pass through the bond.

_Ugh. This feels really gross I need a bath. But jesus christ that was hot I should tell Sherlock that mine is in two years and oh fuck Sherlock you can hear me oh my god._

John’s ears turn red with embarrassment and images of the pon farr flood the bond along with the slow simmer of arousal.

Sherlock watches John in amusement, curls tangled and wild and both of them look absolutely hellish.

John is littered with bruises that match Sherlock’s mouth and on his waist two hand prints are very easily distinguishable.

John sends an image of Sherlock’s equally mottled chest and his back is littered with angry raised lines.

"I believe this is what people would call well shagged." Sherlock intones dryly.

John bursts into laughter, and Sherlock chuckles.

He allows himself to be pulled into a soft kiss and John murmurs, “I love you.”

_I believe I've made it quite clear the sentiment is returned._


End file.
